hat all--all weakness can be conquered?"

Kate nodded. "If the desire to conquer lies behind it."

"Ah, yes."

The man's eyes had become even more thoughtful. There was a look in
them which suggested to Helen that he was not wholly thinking of the
thing Kate had in her mind.

"If the desire to conquer is there," he went on, "I suppose the
habits--diseases of years, even--could be beaten. But--but----"

"But what?" Kate's demand came almost roughly.

Charlie shrugged his slim shoulders. "Nothing," he said. "I--I was
just thinking. That's all."

"But it isn't all," cried Kate, in real distress.

Helen saw Charlie smile in a half-hearted fashion. For some moments
his patience remained. Then, as Kate still waited for him to speak,
his eyes abruptly lit with the deep fire of passion.

"Why? Why?" he cried suddenly. "Why must we conquer and fight with
ourselves? Why beat down the nature given to us by a power beyond our
control? Why not indulge the senses that demand indulgence, when, in
such indulgence, we injure no one else? Oh, I argue it all with
myself, and I try to reason, too. I try to see it all from the
wholesome point of view from which you look at it, Kate. And I can't
see it. I just can't see it. All I know is that the only thing that
makes me attempt to deny myself is that I want your good opinion. Did
I not want that I should slide down the road to hell, which I am told
I am on, with all the delight of a child on a toboggan slide. Yes, I
would. I surely would, Kate. I'm a drunkard, I know. A drunkard by
nature. I have not the smallest desire to be otherwise, from any moral
scruple. It's you that makes me want to straighten up, and you only.
When I'm sober I'd be glad if I weren't. And when I'm not sober I'd
hate being otherwise. Why should I be sober, when in such moments I
suffer agonies of craving? Is it worth it? What does it matter if
drink eases the craving, and lends me moments of peace which I am
otherwise denied? These are the things I think all the time, and these
are the thoughts which send me tumbling headlong--sometimes. But I
know--yes, I know I am all wrong. I know that I would rather suffer
all the tortures of hell than forfeit your--good will."

Kate sighed. She had no answer. She knew all that lay behind the man's
passionate appeal. She knew, too, that he spoke the truth. She knew
that the only reason he made any effort at all was because his
devotion to herself was something just a